It's been thirteen years since Lan Zhan was last in a room with Wei Wuxian, but its been five minutes since he saw Wei Ying teaching art online. Devising a complex plan to save Wei Ying from being framed from murder, Lan Zhan throws his life and he...
He reassured both of them that he was fine and at home on the way here, so while he could call Mother, he didn't want to worry her and for the same reason, could not call Xichen either.
Exhaustion he would flatly deny is creeping into his bones, but while Lan Zhan's mind is craving sleep, too used to the rigid sleeping cycle of nine pm that has been slowly ruined by late night interviews, crimes and stakeouts. Separate of course to his own investigation and his duties in Gusu.
So while he should be flat on his bed unconscious and happy to be so, he can' because it's eight thirty and any minute now...
His phone signals he has a text and he immediately picks it up. Its from Wei Ying..of course it is...and his heart soars, eyes sparking in warm happiness. They had been texting more and more lately. Calls and vid chats, WeChat messages every day when they are free. Wei Ying sends him a text around eight thirty every night now and Lan Zhan texts him at five am, so he can tell him good morning, so he will see it whenever Wei Ying actually wakes.
Hey Lan Zhan! Are you home yet?
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He types back quickly, licking his lips. His heart is already full, at the question and the concern.
Just returned home. Soup. Brother made it. He types back.
This late? SCD is really getting the most out of you! Are you okay? The reply is swift and Lan Zhan wishes he could see the look in Wei Ying's silver eyes, but his mind replays the words in Wei Ying's voice, the lilt of concern, the tilt of his head.
He is so sweet, Lan Zhan thinks lovingly, mouth ticking up irresistibly. He types back, I am well. Then adds a far more honest answer. Tired. Typhoon warnings have caused most of them to flee.
The end of February had arrived with a deluge, almost as if the world was celebrating the final days of this hectic time. As a typhoon made landfall at the coast, the city of Caiyi braced for one of the worst storms in recent years. Traffic was miserable, the roads flooding. Rain lashed against the apartment windows and Lan Zhan hoped that his home in Gusu, the Jingshi was faring well. He knew Brother would have made sure to check the shielding on his rabbits, but he worried nevertheless.
A glance at the windows told him the rain was showing no signs of stopping. The rain would be pouring from the terracotta rooftop of the Jingshi, puddles quickly turning to an icy river that flowed down the mountainside paths, turning walkways lethal so close to the edges of the rocky peaks.
It said something that it took a typhoon to end the vicious cycle of violence in the city, pitting multiple minor sects against each other, invariably made worse by the far larger clans.
The New Spring Festival had been held in Caiyi possibly for as long as this area had been populated, perhaps since the cultivation world began. Normally, this would be fine, but several minor clans had chosen Caiyi to settle a feud, situating themselves in a city packed with tourists, relatives come to celebrate and big competitions that were traditional, like the boat race.
